


FMA Holiday Special: A MIDWINTER'S TALE

by Binaryalchemist



Series: HALF LIVES, WHOLE LIVES, OUR LIVES (post-mangaverse) [6]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst and Humor, Holidays, M/M, Romance, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binaryalchemist/pseuds/Binaryalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>: On a lonely Solstice night, Alphonse cheers Roy up with a challenge: "You've never told me about the men in your life. What about Brother? What about Hughes?"<br/> And, as you know, all the best stories begin with the words, "...no sh*t, there I was..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A DRINK WITH ALPHONSE

FMA HOILIDAY SPECIAL: A MIDWINTER’S TALE

Part 1: A Drink With Alphonse

By The Binary Alchemist, 2013

 

_(from One Man’s Battlefield: The Autobiography of Roy Mustang)_

The best stories—and the wildest exaggerations—always begin with the same five words:

            “ _No shit, there I was….”_

            These are stories told over a pint or a bottle. Stories told by the campfire between old friends or in the trenches under fire. Stories to entertain. Stories to impress or intimidate. Stories about close shaves, opportunities nearly missed, bullets dodged or sexual escapades. Stories of bravery, of Fortune’s favor or—to be blunt— _cocksmanship._

            _Especially_ cocksmanship.

           

Many, many men would ask me about my adventures with women in those days when I was busily plotting to overthrow the Bradley regime. I had a reputation as quite a skirt chaser, going through the women in each region the way a man with hay fever goes through clean handkerchiefs. The girlfriends of other officers. The secretaries of other officers. The mistresses of other officers---note the pattern here.  Hughes kept at me to find a wife and join the status quo. In truth, I was climbing into their beds for _information_ , and  I made damn sure that when I climbed out the ladies in question had been treated well---and in many cases compensated with generous gifts of jewelry, flowers and, frequently, envelopes well stuffed with banknotes.

When it came to the ‘no shit, there I was…’ stories about my sexual escapades, I kept my mouth shut and smiled, suggesting that I was too much the gentleman to kiss and tell about the ladies.

And as far as the _men?_  I would take most of those stories to my grave, I swore.

 

Eventually, I became president, where the private and public—and _pubic_ \---parts of one’s life become front page news. There had been talk aplenty behind my back in the barracks over the years, and once I took the oath of office that talk became gossip page news, especially when Edward Elric moved into my mansion and my life and we chose not to conceal our relationship.

All along, Alphonse had known the truth of my feelings for his brother, long before Ed figured it out after he and Winry separated for the final time…but what I had never told anyone was _how_ I discovered my feelings for this younger man I had known since his childhood…

#####

            I splashed another measure of Stray Dog into Alphonse’s glass. Cold rain hissed down the chimney in my private drawing room and the night had been so raw and wet that all but the most loyal of friends had begged off the traditional Solstice Eve ritual of drinking and gambling and shooting the shit. Those who had come by were now downstairs snoring in various guest rooms and I had managed to evade Hawkeye’s persistent following by pretending to be slightly drunker than I actually was, asking Alphonse to guide me up the stairs to my now-empty bed.

            Edward was not in my bed that Solstice. Neither one of us was happy about this, but an order from Izumi Curtis is an order from on high and must be obeyed. Fond as I am of her, she could put the fear of god into an atheist.  Winry was expecting her first child with her second husband, Dr. Pitt Renback, and somebody had to keep an eye on Maes and Nina, since Izumi and Sig had come east from Dublith to help her out, bringing Ed’s children with them. Ed had offered  to bring the kids to Central for the Solstice holiday. Winry had countered that offer with the threat to shove a pipe wrench up his sigmoid colon. Izumi had seconded that threat. “Take Maes and Nina from their mother when she needs her family the most? At _Solstice?_ What’s the matter with you, Ed?”

            And while Ed always enjoyed the company of his offspring, he hadn’t even wanted to be in the house during their births. Only the love of his children—and his sheer terror at the thought of getting his ass handed to him by his teacher—could come between us on our second Solstice together. We had agreed on a time for a late night private phone conversation that would involve quite a bit of innuendo, heavy breathing, and the use of hands and assorted toys to bring said conversation to a…well…. _climactic_ conclusion.  However, Ed had called early to advise me that Winry was now upstairs in labor and that Pinako had warned Ed to stay off the phones upon the threat of her extreme displeasure. “You can play with yourselves later, Roy,” I heard her yell across the room. “No man ever died of a hard-on.”

            “What’s a hard on?” I heard little Maes pipe up from somewhere near Ed.

            “Nothing, Maes,” Ed stammered, fuming that our private business was somehow Pinako’s business too.

            “My thing gets hard,” my future step-son confided cheerfully. “ It sticks up when I wake up. N’ then I gotta pee. Does Uncle Roy gotta pee?”

            “ _GET OFF THE PHONE, ED!”_  Pinako bellowed, and Ed hastily promised a masturbatory rain check as soon as we could arrange it before hanging up on me.”

            And so now it was a drink in my fist instead of Ed’s cock and my extreme disappointment must have been evident on my face.

            Alphonse, always a first-rate judge of other people’s moods, sipped his drink and studied me over the rim of his glass. After a few moments, he smiled. “You’ve never really told me how it got started.”

            “Hmmm?”

            “You and Brother. I know when you told me how you felt about him…but when did it start, Roy?”

            Alphonse Elric and I are brothers by marriage. Even now, that face is disarmingly boyish. Hard to imagine how many pairs of feminine legs that face has been  between if you don’t know him as well as I do. All of Alphonse Elric’s “no shit, there I was” stories are true and  there are legions of women who will smile—and blush—and assure you that our man does not tell lies about his athletic and geographically diverse love life.

His tales are always told with reverence, respect and affection for the lady—pardon me, _ladies—_ in question. Alphonse has always been a very _social_ gentleman and is noted for exceeding the ‘safe occupancy level’ of your average four-poster bed. Alphonse does not tell tales with the half-snickering ‘slut-with-the-big-titties-harharhar” jocularity of your average soldier. No, if Alphonse tells you about the night upstairs in the Drachman tavern with three milkmaids, a very sturdy headboard, a coil of rope, a pound of caramel toffee, a whole wheel of gouda cheese and a _goat_ , for god’s sake---he will tell his tale cheerfully, praise the ladies as near-goddesses, and damned if I don’t believe him every time.

            “Well,” I mused, “it wasn’t anything as entertaining as the one about the Aerugoan ballerinas and the bathtub full of strawberry gelatin---“

            “—raspberry, actually---“

            “—yeah. Raspberry. And those goddamn duck feathers. Hell, Alphonse, compared to you, any story I tell is going to be dull as shit.”

            His grin was encouraging. “Try me.”

            I was drunk. I was lonesome, and Alphonse is amazingly easy to talk to—even better that I can trust him never to tell a soul.

            Plus—he’s unshockable.

            I took a warming mouthful of scotch, savoring the slow burn as it slid down my throat. Same way I would have savored his brother if Ed had been here.

            “It was a Solstice night, couple of years ago, when Ed turned up unexpectedly in the middle of a poker game.” I leaned back into my armchair and closed my eyes.

            “No shit…there I was…..”

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED….

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. "RUNK' AND DISORDERLY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friendly game of cards on Solstice eve is interrupted by a drunken ex-State Alchemist—and Roy’s life is about to be turned upside down by the former Fullmetal….

FMA HOLIDAY SPECIAL: A MIDWINTER’S TALE

PART TWO: “RUNK” AND DISORDERLY

By The Binary Alchemist 2013

 

            Solstice. “Cold as a well-digger’s ass with brass balls”, according to Havoc, who had the brilliant inspiration of having Sebastian fetch in a steaming urn of fresh brewed coffee and a tray of tall glasses. Draping a serviette over one arm, he lashed each serving with a generous dollop of warm brandy and floated cream over the top, sprinkled with fresh grated nutmeg. “Remember drinking this back at Fort Briggs during the winter war games, Chief?”

            “Yes,” I muttered as my companions chuckled. “Very effective in softening the memories of how badly we were beaten by the Briggs soldiers.” Not to mention how badly _I_  was beaten by their commander, Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong—literally. While our soldiers fought for prestige and respect, we played for forfeits. If Central was victorious, she would surrender information. If Briggs won—as they inevitably did—let us say that the Major General had no interest in any information I might have offered. I am well aware of long standing rumors of my being bound, naked, to her desk and being ill-used with all manner of penetrative devices after having my backside soundly paddled and being ordered to lick the Major General’s boots. I’m sure I don’t have a clue how those rumors got started. I won’t say that I didn’t receive some minor humiliations—perhaps some coarse speculations about my manhood and the manhood of my soldiers. But under no circumstances did the Major General ever strike my buttocks with her _own_ sword. Beyond that…well….no comment.

 

            At any rate, the glasses were filled and touched rim to rim in a toast to our Briggs victories—well, the one we might have on one occasion had if they hadn’t ambushed me and my officers, hog tied us at gun point and dragged us five miles through the icy underbrush before laying our battered bodies at their commander’s feet. Kain was about to deal us another hand of cards when I heard my butler, Sebastian, discreetly _hemm-hemming_ at the doorway. As President Elect, old Grumman, my predecessor, had sent the Presidential Major Domo to the house I had been renting in Central prior to my swearing in at the new year. I found him highly competent and highly unnerving, silent and elegant as a sleek black cat, all the more so if you knew he was a Black Ops bodyguard  who could probably cut your head off without spilling a single drop of your blood on his immaculate uniform.

            “Yes, Sebastian?”

            “General Mustang, forgive the intrusion. You have a visitor. Mr. Elric is outside.”

            I frowned. What the hell was Ed doing here? I hadn’t contacted him with any assignments, although he had developed an odd habit of turning up unexpectedly in Central now that Alphonse was in Xing. Considering he was now married and the father of a young son this seemed quite peculiar. He had been mustered out with a pension, having lost his alchemic abilities and was no longer able to serve in his former position, although I conferred with him in a number of research projects on alchemic history and theory. It had been assumed that he would retire to Resembool and somehow make himself useful at his wife’s automail shop, venturing out, now and then, to study abroad . If anything, he seemed more restless and irritable than ever.

            “Show him in, Sebastian,” I sighed, not eager to have this convivial evening interrupted by a touchy, argumentative ex-alchemist.

            “I attempted to escort our guest in. However,” he added, with a faint hint of disapproval, he informed me that he needed to be… _unwell_.”

            _“Unwell?”_

“In the hedges. I shall cover it up with fresh snow as soon as he is able to navigate the stars.”

            “Sebastian, I’m a soldier, and I don’t mince words. Ladies are ‘unwell’. Gentlemen _vomit_ \---and if Edward Elric is throwing up in my front yard I suggest you pick him up bodily and drag him inside before he decides he also needs to relieve his bladder. And if he gives you any crap, call and I’ll take care of him.” I tugged on the cuff of my right glove for emphasis.

            “Very good, Sir.”

           

            It took about ten minutes of persuasion—possibly a few very discreet threats—but Sebastian got Ed inside before causing a scene for the neighbors.

            He looked like hell. That’s being generous. His grin was a little too tight and there were circles under his eyes. He was rumpled, as if he’d slept in his clothing during a lengthy train ride. His battered valise was hanging from one hand. The other groped for the doorjamb. Once he found it, he tried to lean against it and missed, tumbling ass over elbows across the carpet, whacking his head on the side of my drinks cabinet.

            He swore and pointed furiously at the doorjamb. “It _moved.”_

            I was raised by my father’s younger sister, who ran a very well known establishment in Central. There was a bar downstairs to entertain the gentlemen callers waiting their turn for …horizontal refreshment, as it was sometimes called in those days. I grew up in that ‘house of many sisters’ and earned my first cens carrying drinks to their guests. Once I mastered the art of mixing a first rate highball—about the age of seven---I would run back and forth from the bar, carrying orders and pocketing coins. One of the first things I learned from the bartender was the Stages of Inebriation:

            Stage one: the customer is buzzed and talkative

            Stage two: the ‘high’ stage. the customer’s bar stool is getting comfy and the men sitting next to him are either ‘the best pals in the world’ or ‘sodding bastards that need their balls kicked up their necks”

            Stage three: the customer is drunk.  They either get soppy and sentimental, whoop and dance on the tables, threaten to cut someone’s nuts off, or melt into a grinning puddle behind a cigarette and another cold pint of whatever.

            Stage four: they are ‘ _runk._ . Words don’t hang together—they spill out like a ‘vowel movement’. They try to brush something off their shoulder…and it’s the carpet. I could pick their pockets with impunity before our bouncer rolled him up in his overcoat and slung him into a cab before he threw up all over the upholstered furniture.

 

            I had seen Ed occasionally have a beer or nurse a small brandy now and then since reaching his majority at sixteen. He held his liquor well and drank like a gentleman.

            For the first time in his life, Edward Elric was well and truly ‘ _runk._

Keeping his volatile temper in mind, I decided to play things cool. Thankfully, my team followed my lead.

            Havoc caught my eye. “I have a friend named Mickey Finn….” Old barroom code for _‘let’s give him a big slug of something high octane and knock his sorry ass out and then let him sleep it off.’_  He raised his eyebrows. I shook my head.

            “Ed,” I nodded to my drunken guest. “Want a Briggs Icebreaker?” I indicated my glass of roped coffee. “ _Falman_ makes them better than Havoc.”

            Falman looked surprised—even more so when I booted him under the table. Havoc winked at him. Hawkeye nodded. Breda stepped over to help Ed to his feet. “Falman, Sebastian’s got the _good stuff_ in the kitchen. Do the honors, will ya?”

           

            A few minutes later, Falman arrived with a steaming hot glass of fragrant coffee, an artistic squiggle of whipped cream on the top. Ed nodded his thanks and drank deeply.

            Falman, I might mention, is a strict teetotaler. He’s not opposed to alcohol. He doesn’t like not being in full control of himself at all times. Sebastian keeps rum and brandy flavoring extracts in the pantry and Falman uses them when he has an Icebreaker. All of the taste, none of the getting wasted. Ed’s glass had double-strength coffee, brandy extract and a whomping dose of sugar. By the time it hit his stomach he would get a caffeine jolt that could make a grown man’s hair stand on end. ..

            ….or it could make him throw up all over the card table before passing out, face down in a bowl of peanuts…..

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED…..

 


	3. A FRIEND IN NEED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy Mustang had long since mastered the art of coaxing sparks into flames. A flame of a different kind had blazed and scarred him with the loving and the loss of Maes Hughes. Now, a new and more dangerous flame has been fanned to life--a spark of emotion born of his concern for Edward--and Roy struggles to snuff it out before it flares up and out of his tight control....

FMA HOLIDAY SPECIAL: A MIDWINTER’S TALE

PART 3: A FRIEND IN NEED

By The Binary Alchemist 2013

 

_Ed’s glass had double-strength coffee, brandy extract and a whomping dose of sugar. By the time it hit his stomach he would get a caffeine jolt that could make a grown man’s hair stand on end. .._

_….or it could make him throw up all over the card table before passing out, face down in a bowl of peanuts….._

           

            There was a very long silence as we contemplated our fallen guest.

 Havoc hoisted his glass. “Refills, anyone?

            Everybody nodded, since virtually every glass not in someone’s hand was now tipped over and dripping in our laps. Before I could clean it up with alchemy, Sebastian was instantly at my side, tut-tutting under his breath and trying to mop up the mess. “If I might be so bold, could one of you remove Mr. Elric’s face from the nut bowl? He might accidentally inhale one and that would be a dreadful thing to explain to the doctors in the emergency room.”

            Havoc caught Ed by the back of his pony tail and lifted his head.

            His eyes—golden and glassy--met mine—and something very unwelcome stirred inside me, in a corner of my psyche I had kept walled up and nailed shut since Hughes died and I had turned all of my thoughts and energy towards the service of my country.             I mentally shoved that emotion back as if slamming a door shut and bolting it against something that might tear me to pieces like some wild animal.

 I nodded to Havoc. “Let’s get him cleaned up and get him to bed.” Ed’s eyes rolled up in his head and he sagged, sinking gracelessly to the floor in a heap.

            Hooking my arms under his armpits, I hauled him upright. Havoc grabbed his feet. “Shit, I’ve got the heavy part. Damn automail…”

            I jerked my head towards the stairs. “My room’s at the top, to the left. Breda, get his bag.”

            Hawkeye frowned. “I should call Winry….”

            I shook my head. “I’m not getting involved in their battles. He can call her himself when he’s sober.”

            “Battles?” She looked concerned.

            “Their business. Stay out of it.” She opened her mouth to protest. She glanced around and noticed that none of the others would meet her eyes. Her expression changed from worried to genuinely sorry. “I didn’t realize--”

            “--no reason you should. I’m not getting involved. Come on, Havoc.”

            “Shit, he’s heavy!”

            “We’re not going to drag him.”

 

            “Does the Presidential Palace have an elevator?” Havoc wanted to know.

            “It will when I get there,” I promised. “Either that, or my drunken friends will have to ride up in the dumbwaiter.” I strained to get Ed upright, seated on the edge of my bed so we could get him undressed. His head lolled against my shoulder and I could smell his hair, clean and faintly herbal from shampoo. There was a faint whiff of fresh sweat and warm skin—the curve of his bare neck was too close to my face. My palms began to sweat and in the back of my mind it seemed the wisest course of action would be to call for Breda or Falman to step in and get Ed into the bath so I could get the hell away from him and knock back a stiff shot of scotch. There were demons in my head, ghosts of past emotions that had gained me nothing but regret in the end. The slow burn of whiskey could stop my hands from shaking. _Not again…goddamn it, not again._

            Instead, I tugged off his overcoat, unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt and peeled them off his torso. The scars stood out in sharp relief against his lightly tanned skin.  The metal ring with it’s pointed clamps, half covered with skin, was buried deep in the muscle and encircled the shoulder joint where his stump had been. Pinako couldn’t have removed it without damaging the bone, he once told me. My fingertips brushed against the surgical steel. It was very, very warm.

            So was my face.

            My reverie was interrupted by Havoc, who had tossed Ed’s shoes and socks in the corner and was contemplating his belt with uncertainty. “I don’t know, Chief…”

            A smirk crept to my lips. “Afraid of comparisons, Havoc?”

            Havoc snorted. “This is _Ed_ we’re talkin’ about.” The belt was removed, along with his neat wool trousers and a pair of light blue boxer shorts.

            I tried very hard not to look down. “Go run him a bath. I’ll keep him from falling over.”

            My arm was around his shoulder, steadying him. His head rested against my cheek. I did not look down, but his scent and warmth was too, too close and impossible to ignore.

 

            There are some fires that even a Flame Alchemist cannot control. A godless man, I offered a silent plea to my only personal saint. _Hughes…make it stop. Make it stop. Make it go back to sleep. You know what you put me through, damn you. You saw me break in the tunnels under Central._

_His eyes…damn, Maes. Even the strongest man can bend and break when he’s pushed too far._

_His childhood….hell, WHAT childhood? Bad enough being born in wartime…Hohenheim gone, mother dead…that insane drive to bring her back---and at such a cost!_

_All those years—growing up too soon. I saw the child he was—that night, sobbing in the alley over Nina Tucker, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. I said to myself…alchemist or not, this is a frightened child I don’t want to have on my hands. He’s gonna get himself killed—or worse—and I don’t want to see it._

_I was wrong about him. We were all wrong. He got tougher and colder and more distant and determined---focusing only on the goal in front of him, even if it took him straight to the heart of hell…_

_But… he loved his brother. He loved his friends and those he came to think of as family. He lost his alchemy but he kept that strong, stubborn soul intact._

_He won. We won. He walked away from his personal battlefield bloodied, having sacrificed the art he had built his life and faith upon._

_He won…but he lost._

_The center of his life—Alphonse and his alchemy—were gone. His mastery willingly surrendered, his brother walking in strange new worlds of knowledge in a foreign land._

_Ed could watch from a distance…but never truly be a part of his brother’s world again._

            _We met, now and again. We talked—as men, not as angry child and superior officer. I asked him about his engagement. He shrugged and looked embarrassed. “Well…y’know…that’s…just…y’know…how it is back East. You just…y’know….everybody expects you to…She said she had waited. So….” I congratulated them. He shrugged again and asked for more coffee and didn’t mention it again._

_Fatherhood came immediately afterwards. Again, I congratulated him. “Yeah…uh…didn’t expect..wasn’t exactly planning…but…yeah….”_

_He was proud of his son, terrified of being a father. I think he was afraid of failing Maes, feeling helpless and inadequate and useless in his aimless new life. When I would politely inquire about his family, he answered in noncommittal monosyllables._

_He began turning up in Central and other cities. He kept a timetable in his head, always knowing when the next train could take him somewhere else._

_The boy was gone, Hughes. The boy full of piss and anger and cocky attitude—the boy who fought the devil himself—had become a moody scholar who never seemed to fit into his own skin anymore._

_You want to know the truth, Hughes?_

_I got to the point that, damn it…if I never saw him again I wouldn’t have cared less. Ed had become a stranger—not just to me, but to himself._

_Even the strongest back will bend._

_Tonight, I think he broke._

_I think he_ needed _to break._

_And, goddamn it, Hughes---I think I’m breaking too…._

            My eyes were closed.

            _“Why the fuck are you here? Why are you doing this?”_

            Ed’s voice was low and weary.

            “You’re my friend.”

            Lifting his head, he stared at me. “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.”

            The corner of his mouth twitched. It was almost a smile.

            _“Good.”_

            He sagged against me once more. My arms slid around him. I felt something break inside my chest.

            _Goddamn it, Hughes…please…not Ed….I can’t go there….not with Ed…_

TO BE CONTINUED….

 


	4. FEVER DREAMS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last time Roy Mustang fell seriously for another man, it was for his best friend. Now Roy is ready to try anything—even chastity—to stop thinking about the younger man currently passed out and snoring in the room across the hall…

HOLIDAY SPECIAL: A MIDWINTER’S TALE

PART 4: FEVER DREAMS

By The Binary Alchemist 2013

 

            Now then…you people with a nasty imagination---or those who’ve heard tell of me being ‘morally bankrupt’ to the core of my rotten soul---are probably imagining some pretty raunchy things about this point.

            I know Alphonse was….for a second.

            He put down his glass. “Brother told me…wait a minute…he said the first time with you was when he was in the hospital in Central! That time when he kicked the guardrails off the bed and you two were making so much noise it scared the kids in the pediatrics ward!”

            I folded my hands behind my head, smiling at the memory. “Exactly. You would not believe the amount of cens I had to donate to the hospital charity ward fund to keep it hushed up.”

            “But Ed was on your bed, naked. You had him in your arms. And nothing happened??”

            “Alphonse, as much as it pains me to admit this, you are not the Last True Gentleman left in Amestris. Even I have scruples…on occasion….”

###

            Awake and pissed off, Edward was like a tightly coiled spring. Drunk, he was utterly _boneless_. We scooped him up off the side of the bed, half dragged him into the bathroom and essentially poured him into the tub. Kain came upstairs with a tea towel filled with finely cracked ice folded inside and a bottle of aspirin—relief for now and for later.

            I knelt down and arranged the cold pack on his soon-to-be-throbbing head and, with great reluctance, covered his loins with a wet towel.

            A better man than I am would not have risked a peek.

            You don’t get to where I am in politics and the military by always being the better man.

            It, too, was boneless as he was—but in the dim light of the bathroom and underwater I saw enough of him to decide that, if the occasion arose, I would never kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

            (I’m sure he will beat the shit out of me for saying this—he doesn’t take after his brother, or, presumably, his burly father Hohenheim. I’ve walked in accidentally on Al while he was entertaining his lady friends and can confirm the impressiveness of his endowments. Edward…well…remember he was quite short in stature until after his sixteenth birthday. He grew taller….but not specifically _bigger_.  Oh, it’s generous enough, all things considering. I’m extremely fond of it and wouldn’t change it for the world and have spent some of the best hours of my life paying it my most ardent respects…but he was never in any danger of poking himself in the eye.

            What about my own endowments, you ask?

            Let us just say that my name is…appropriate….and leave it at that, shall we?)

             

            I found myself kneeling on the wet bathroom floor, one arm supporting Ed’s head from lolling back and smacking against the tile wall, while the other hand held the ice pack in place. Ed was hovering around consciousness, humming slightly. He snorted, then his head pressed against my cheek. Under the wet towel, I saw his cock stir. He sighed and snuggled drunkenly against me, chuckling under his breath.

He mumbled something. “ _Asshole.”_

            I was pretty damn sure he was not referring to his wife..

            Suddenly, my knees weren’t the only thing feeling cramped.

            I yelled for Havoc to haul him out and dry him off. I had pajamas to fetch and a painful erection to conceal.

           

            Sebastian had unpacked Ed’s gear, laying his toiletries on my dresser: comb, hairbrush, ties for his hair, toothbrush and such.  By the morning, all the vomit stains would be gone from his clothing, his shoes would be polished and he could step out the front door, whistling out of tune, and nobody would be any wiser about his bender at the President-Elect’s house.

            Sebastian and Havoc got him into bed while I carried a few items to the guest room across the hall—and I paused.

            Downstairs, I heard Hawkeye on the phone to someone, telling them where Ed was.

            I marched down and was about to chew here out. “You didn’t say I couldn’t call Izumi,” she challenged. “Somebody needs to know he’s not hurt or killed.”

            _That_ kind of thinking is why she has remained my adjutant all these years. “What did she say?”

            “She didn’t seem surprised. She’s already talked to Winry.”

            “And?”

            “The phrase she used was ‘they need some time to cool off’. And she doesn’t like being n the middle, any more than Pinako or Alphonse. She said she’d let Pinako know he’s safe and with friends. Oh, and that little Maes really liked the stuffed cat Ed got for him, the one that Gracia made. He…wasn’t upset about Ed being gone.”

            “Not this year,” I sighed. “He’s young. If those two aren’t careful, that kid will be as emotionally screwed up as his father. Anyway,” I nodded, “good job. I’ll give you a call in the morning—let you know how he’s doing. Goodnight, Hawkeye.”

            “Sir!”

 

            “Aspirins?” I pointed to the china saucer with a couple of tablets by the water carafe on the nightstand.

            “Yeah. Thanks.” He was awake and able to talk, having vomited out most of the alcohol in his stomach. He was still going to have one mother of a hangover in the morning, and I planned to dose him with a horrible concoction that Hughes used to call Scrape Me Off The Ceiling—as in it would jolt you awake like a very sharp stick being rammed up your ass. It’s disgusting—but when you have to wake up sober and wake up fast it will do the trick.

            ….but that was for the morning. It was half past one and he slid back under the covers after downing his pain relief.  I was relaxing in my leather arm chair by the bedroom hearth, a volume of Hermes Trismegistus’ _Emerald Tablet of Alchemy_ as a bit of light reading before bedtime. “What are you doing in here?”

            “Reading. This _is_ my room, you know. And making sure you’re all right before I turn in. Hate for you to die, Ed. The paperwork would be a pain in the ass.”

            “Did I do anything….?”

            “Stupid? Probably. But nobody here is going to talk about it. And,” I added, “far as I’m concerned, the door’s open.  Come when you want. Go when you please. Plenty of room. Ice box is always full. Need anything, Sebastian will take care of it.”

            “You got a butler now?”

            “I’ve got a body guard who serves great coffee, can fold my sheets into army corners when he makes the bed, gets my uniforms back from the cleaner on time and treats my friends better than I do. And if he ever challenged Hawkeye to a duel, I’d be picking out her casket. Grumman’s got him over here so he can help me get organized before my swearing-in.”

            “Swearing in?” He grinned weakly. “Heh! Swearing _at_ , you mean.” He turned on his side and closed his eyes. “I kicked you outta your own bed. Sorry.”

            “Buy me a drink sometimes and we’ll call that equivalent.”

            The thought of more booze made him groan. I grabbed the waste basket and shoved it to the side of the bed. “Puke on my pillow and you buy me a new one. In _there_ \---if you’ve got anything still in your stomach to throw up.”  
            _“Fuck you.”_

“Not in that condition.” I switched off the light. “Get some rest.”

           

            Seated in the arm chair by the fire, the book forgotten at my elbow. The play of light and shadow brought out the angles of his features. Sharp and keen still, but every last trace of boyishness was gone. I had never really seen Ed at rest, thick gold lashes flickering on his cheeks, a strand of long, damp hair stuck to the side of his face. He began to snore.

            I found myself standing over him. _Adjusting the covers. Don’t want him to get sick and then have him move in up here._

            That’s what I told myself. “Checking for fever.”  My hand swept his messy bangs out of his eyes.  My fingers strayed to touch that hair, longer than they should have.

            Abruptly, I went back to the guestroom and closed the door tightly behind me.

 

            _Goddamn it._

            Edward Elric had stumbled into my house, thrown up on my carpet, passed out in my bathtub…and grabbed hold of my organ.

            If it had been my _cock_ , my life would have been a damn sight less complicated.

            But no—the son of a bitch grabbed my _heart_ , damn it, and I had left him alone because I did not want to make a goddamn fool of myself.

            My fist slammed into the pillow. _“Fuck it!”_ I swore. “Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it! I don’t _need_ this shit!” _Anothe_ r married man getting to me, ruining my life and here I was again, alone in my bed at night, hard as a brick and wanting to beat my head against the wall until I knocked some sense into myself.

            Lifting the covers, I glared at my erection. “Forget it,” I told him. “Let’s not make a bad situation worse.” Jacking off while thinking about Ed would be the single dumbest move I had made since falling in love with my best friend in at the academy, knowing from Day One that Hughes was besotted with the idea of finding The Perfect Woman.  Ed was married—however uncomfortably—and I would be good and goddamned if I was going to get into the middle of _that_ mess.

            Closing my eyes, I mentally began repeating my General Orders from my cadet days. It was no damn good. Instead of  _I will walk my post in a military manner, keeping always on the alert and observing everything that takes place within sight or hearing,_  I could hear Hughes braying _“I will walk my beat, beat my meat, and fuck everything within fifteen feet!”_

And fifteen feet away, approximately, was Edward Elric…in my bed.

            My cock stirred, knocking impatiently against my belly. “At ease, soldier!”

            I wrapped my arms around my pillow, turned on my side and tried to get some rest…..

 

            _I felt a hand on my shoulder._

_“Wake up.”_

_I woke up._

_He was standing beside my bed, pajama shirt open. In the dim light from the open door I couldn’t see his face as clearly as I needed to. “Ed?”_

_“You did this to me.”  As my eyes adjusted, I could see the front of his light blue pajama bottoms. My own neglected soldier jerked to full attention out of respect for a fellow officer._

_He bent down, obscuring my vision, but I could smell his skin and feel his hot breath against my face._

_He smelled clean, tasted clean and there was nothing desperate about the way his lips moved between mine. His tongue met mine half way and they curled around one another like the embrace of old friends who have been apart for many a long and lonely year. His hand slipped behind my head, drawing my face closer. My hands gripped his lean hips._

_The kiss broke. “You good with this?” I asked, hoping that I wasn’t about to become the punch line of another “one night I got really drunk at Mustang’s house—no shit, there I was…” story._

_“Yeah.”_

_“You ever….?”_

_“You think I don’t know what to do?”_

_“How the hell would I know?”_

_He yanked off the covers between us and threw them on the floor. ‘I know what I’m doin’.”_

_“Good.” After another suffocating kiss, I added, “Lock the goddamn door, will you?”_

TO BE CONTINUED…..

           

 


	5. WHITE DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> : As a young alchemy student, Roy got his hands on a copy of “The Way Of The White Dragon”—a illicit manual on erotic Tantric Alchemy so detailed and explicit that the Central Library kept their copy in a locked vault . Aside from increasing his powers, it changed his love life forever…especially once he discovers that Ed’s read the same banned book.

HOLIDAY SPECIAL:A MIDWINTER’S TALE

CHAPTER 5: WHITE DRAGON

By The Binary Alchemist  2013

 

            _“Lock the goddamn door, will you?”_

_A President-Elect—hell, even a General in the army—is never really alone. I had Sebastian smiling and pouring coffee with a garroting wire in his pocket and daggers up his sleeve. Hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised if his signet ring concealed a dose of cyanide. His job was to keep people from getting too close to me who had no business getting too close to me. Hopefully he would knock before kicking down the door to be sure I wasn’t being assaulted without my consent._

_And damn, was I consenting._

_“I wanna see you.”_

_It was an easy thing to light the emergency candle lantern on the night stand—electricity in Central isn’t the most reliable when there’s ice on the power lines in winter. No longer needing an array after my encounter with Truth, I still needed a Pyrotex glove to create a spark. It jumped easily off my fingertips and onto the candle wick,_

_Before I could lie back, he impatiently tugged off my pajama top, not even bothering to unbutton it. His thumbs dug under the waistband and he yanked awkwardly, bending me briefly in a manner that was painful enough to soften me a bit._

_As soon as he stretched out on top of me, though, I was rock hard again, and I whispered for him to lift his hips enough to strip off the bottom half of his nightwear. Soon as he had kicked free of his clothes I lifted my knees and spread my thighs and he settled down into my arms, mouth to mouth, cock to cock._

_Strange…it was so strange that he would touch me like this, making low growls of pleasure as he shifted his chest back and forth, his nipples brushing against my own, the hard ridge of his cock digging into my belly. When he came up for air, he must have noticed the slightly puzzled look on my face._

_“The Way Of The White Dragon. I found a copy of it when I was twelve.”_

_Only an alchemist would interrupt the act of love to discuss theories and books._

_If he hadn’t been on top of me I’d have fallen out of bed. “How the hell did you get your hands on---“_

_“Tucker had a copy. Guess it didn’t occur to him that I’d find it when I was studying for my exams. Maybe he thought I was too damn young to understand it—but I did. And when I asked Teacher about it, she told me it was true and not to be worried about it.”_

_The Way Of The White Dragon. So that was it._

_Damn._

_One of the great secrets of alchemy adepts and great masters is that humans may have male or female bodies—but an alchemic master embraces both within himself “The way of enlightenment seeks the balance within oneself of all opposites in mind and soul and body.”_

_In other words—the great masters of alchemy were pansexual. They knew themselves to be a blending of all things and loved as they would without shame._

_As soon as Master Hawkeye met me he suspected that I had some concerns about being attracted to men as well as women. An adept himself, he understood and explained that this was not uncommon—in fact, it was often a character trait in the most powerful of alchemists._

_He allowed me to read the Way Of The White Dragon—then told me to lay it aside and get on with my life and not to worry about it._

            Now I understood. Edward and I had been taught that there were no boundaries of sex or gender in alchemy---or in love.

_He was smiling now, rocking against my belly. His hand swept across my chest. “You okay with this?”_

_I knew what he wanted. I smiled back at him. “I have seen the Dragon…I have walked through the Gate from the Tree of Life. I have eaten in gratitude and have drunk in wisdom. All has been seen, even when hidden. Unto me the One Stone is given.”_

_My arms and legs wrapped around him. For the first time, he said my name as if it mattered to him._

_Do you know what it means to surrender control to another person? Me—gamesman that I am, the master manipulator? Only once in my life have I ever let down my guard to let another person…to let someone jolt me out of my own head and push me past the brink, even in the most intimate moments. That person was Maes Hughes. In the end, that trust and love  cost me more pain than I like to think about, but it was worth it._

_I was ready to trust Edward—and he was ready to trust me._

_Amazing how sensitive the human body can be. Just the faintest brush of the edge of my tongue across the very tip of his nipples made his breath catch in his throat. It was like he’d never been caressed before by someone who understood the subtleties of pleasure. He was unconsciously arching his neck in invitation, and a sucking bite and a hiss of warm breath raised the goosepimples all over his body. Traveling upwards, I licked gently along the rim of his ear and he yelped and panted, not expecting his nerve endings to be triggered in such unexpected ways._

_He had energy. I had experience. I wanted to be careful not to push him too far, or he might not last long—that was the only thing that kept me from flipping him on his back and pulling him into my mouth._

_To my surprise, he slowed himself down and his mouth found its way back to mine again. His first kisses were awkward, rather like being gnawed at, but he was good at following my lead and had gotten the hang of it very quickly. So well, in fact, that his belly was quite slick from the small bursts of moisture he was coaxing from my now-neglected cock.  We had been rubbing against one another, up to this point, but now he stilled, catching his breath. I knew what he wanted and every nerve in my body was screaming for him to get on with it—but this wasn’t about me. It was about us._

_“Do you have anything…?”_

_“Lotion. Top drawer.”_

_‘Is that gonna work for--”_

_“—yeah. It’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.”_

_I put it on the nightstand within easy reach. He would tell me when he was ready for it._

_Blunt fingers skimmed down my chest, traced the fine trail of dark hair down. They lingered at my navel, just above the tip, and he seemed surprised how wet I was. “Is that from you or from me?”_

_My own fingers slid down and squeezed. They brushed across his lips. “This is from me.” His lips parted and I pushed them in. He sucked them, almost thoughtfully. “Hmmm?”_

_“Tastes…like…me…but different. You smell good.” Bolder now, he slid down until his face hovered above me. He glanced up. “Never done this. To_ anybody _.”_

_I caught his meaning. “Do you want to? It’s okay if you don’t.”_

_His answer was a tentative kiss along my shaft. He kissed me again and touched the very tip with his forefinger. “It’s purple. I like the veins. Would…would it fit okay?”_

_“Yeah. I promise. Later, if you want to.”_

_He nodded. “Let’s see how this goes.” He sucked the moisture off his finger, thought about it for a moment. Then he swallowed about a third of my shaft and when the head hit the back of his throat I had to grab the headboard to keep from clutching his head._

_He must have satisfied all doubts about it, because he was now pulling me hard with his lips, his hand tight on my shaft. I felt my balls tighten and instinctively hooked a hand under each knee, spreading myself wide, inviting his touch. He responded by slipping a hand under my balls and gently rubbing my entrance, all the while trying to work the end of his tongue under the rim of my foreskin, circling the crown and bringing me dangerously close to bursting in his mouth._

_“Not yet,” I warned him and he backed off. “Here.”_

_He took the bottle, but laid it to one side. He was studying my body with an expression I couldn’t read, forehead puckering a little as if solving a problem or trying to reach a decision._

_When his tongue slid down and in, I knew that decision was the right one._

_He glanced up at me again, as if he couldn’t quite believe he had done it. “Is…is that good?”_

_I stroked his hair. “Let me show you.”_

_He shook his head. He wanted no distractions, and I can honestly say that never in my life has any lover ever touched me with such concentration and concern. He wanted this to be good for me. How often can you say this about a man in bed? We are selfish bastards, all of us, by nature. Edward’s hands moved over my cock and my balls and my inner thighs, between my cheeks, cupping and stroking and learning me. He nuzzled the fine curls at my groin, rubbing his face against me. His hair brushed against my inner thighs and it felt nearly as wonderful as his tongue._

_He sucked hard, prying me open, humming the same way he had when he was in the bath and snuggling drunkenly against me. My hand squeezed his shoulder._

_“Hurry…”_

_“It’s…tight. I gotta…what is it, one finger, two fingers—“_

_“—three fingers, dick---is that what you’ve heard?” He nodded. “It’s been a long time, but no. I’m ready.”_

_“Then…how…?”_

_I took him in my hand and coated him with the thick hand lotion. “Rub it,” I whispered harshly. “Rub against me. When I relax…you’ll feel it. Take it slow and steady, and keep going until…”_

_He licked his lips nervously. “Until what?”_

_“Until,” I pulled my knees close to my chest. “You fill me up.”_

_There was a strangled half-sob of raw hunger and I felt him press against me, one shaking hand rubbing and circling with the tip until he had breached me. He stiffened and bit his lip._

_“Now.”_

_And it was slow and steady and it burned and it was bliss and my heart was pounding so hard I thought my ribs would crack. He sank to the hilt and I squeezed him tight inside me, my ankles now resting on his shoulders. “Keep going,” I gasped. ‘Hard!”_

_And he did, his head falling back as his hips snapped hard against me, the rich smell of his sweat and machine oil and musk and damp hair filling my senses. There was the soft, wet sound of him plunging in and out of me, the slap of his balls against my ass and my own cries and shouts of pleasure, urging him on and on and on._

_Each time he filled me up he was stripping off another layer of my obsessive self control. Each time he pulled back and looked down into my face his smile grew wider, as if he were waking up and coming back to himself._

_I was jerking frantically at my own cock, and when his fingers curled around to join them I burst, hoarse from shouting his name, over and over, coming so hard I could taste the hot splash when it rained across my chest and over my chin and lips. I yanked him down into a deep kiss and he sobbed, bit my lower lip and the heat spread inside me…_

            ….and I woke up, wet and terrified. I was biting my pillow and the sheets were a mess.

 

            A week later he was on an eastbound train. If he had heard me that night—or in the nights that followed—he never mentioned it. But in those days that followed Solstice we were at ease with one another as we had never been before in our lives.

           

            He went back to Resembool. There was another child—a girl he named Nina after Shou Tucker’s lost daughter.  Winry, I learned years later, had thought that another offspring might bring them closer together. A terrible burden to place on an innocent child, she later came to understand…but they were young, those two. Neither of them had anything near to a normal childhood or adolescence.  They had thought that friendship and custom and expectation was enough to build a life upon.

            Ed needed more. In time, so did Winry.

            When he returned to my house one early winter’s morning, he finally unpacked his suitcase. From that day to this, his hairbrush is still on my—our—dresser, right beside mine. That’s as it should be.

           

            The first Solstice after their divorce, Izumi summoned us all to Dublith for a family holiday. Ed and Winry found that they could be kind to one another, and the children basked in the warmth of much loving attention from us all, including me.

            We were lying in our bedroom under a pile of handmade quilts and Ed propped himself up on one elbow, grinning down at me. “Not the worst Solstice, I gotta say.”

            “Oh hell no, not by a long shot.”

            He looked curious. “Oh? What’s the worst Solstice you ever spent? Was it me throwing up all over your carpet and you jerking off in the guest room?”

            I smoothed his hair back from his forehead, “That was one of my better Solstices, idiot. Now,” I settled him against my chest in the dark, “the worst Solstice in the history of my life—not counting the Dahlia Campaign in Ishbal—had to have been just before Hughes and I went into the field as junior officers. He was writing to this girl named Gracia and was not as keen on blowjobs and handjobs as he used to be—I think he was feeling guilty about sleeping with me. Hell, I know he was. Anyway, Hughes got this idea that maybe what I really needed was a good lay, and when we got on the Eastern border we swiped a jeep one night and headed for the wrong side of town.

            “No shit—there I was….”

 

TO BE CONTINUED….

 


End file.
